Archive for the 'Miscellaneous Missives' Category

If I ruled the internet

NS October 16th, 2011

People would use grammar and spelling in a largely correct, coherent manner but, likewise, overwrought pedantry about the misuse of words and the digging in of heels against the evolution of language would be punishable by being forced to eat sweaty socks.

Those who sprinkle apostrophes everywhere in a mistaken belief that they indicate plurality instead of possessiveness would be dipped in wet, gluey newspaper strips, stuffed with sweeties and flogged by errant toddlers with large sticks.

Continually posting pictures of cats doing cute and hilarious things and expecting everyone to lap it up (particularly if you’re a woman and a feminist), while simultaneously berating those who post pictures of kids doing cute and hilarious things and expecting everyone to lap it up, would be seen as the giant hypocrisy it is.

Complaining about changed Facebook settings, while continuing to use Facebook, would result in one’s automatic demotion to Bebo. Repeat offenders would be dropped into the bowels of MySpace, haunted by a never-ending loop of emo music on automatic play.

Cowardly commenters who make disgustingly offensive remarks on forums and news websites under the cover of anonymity would be taken out of their miserable jobs and/or mothers’ basements  and given the attention and cuddles they obviously never received as children. If the cuddles didn’t work, their pockets would be lined with stones and they’d be tossed in the nearest river like a sack of unwanted kittens.

Anyone using the phrases ‘full of WIN’ or ‘epic FAIL’ would be reincarnated as the bottom of a nappy bin in summer.

Porn, in its current misogynistic form, would largely disappear. All at once. I just hope the energy shift resulting from 5.7 million solitary handjobs ceasing mid-stroke isn’t enough to spin the Earth off its axis.

The Daily Mail’s website would be hacked and taken over by immigrant lesbians, fat liberals, paedophile benefit scroungers and French-speaking EU bureaucrats, with a few drunk tarts and feral teens thrown in for good measure.

Defining or qualifying women’s capabilities based on their parental status (like ‘mummy blogger’ or ‘mumpreneur’ or ‘mummy track’), while trying to make it sound cheerful and hip, would result in a 2-year mandatory sentence at Camp Patronising, where all the tables and chairs are 10 times as big as the adults and giant children talk down to them while patting them on their pretty, tiny little heads.

All of the following ‘debates’ would cease to exist: breast v bottle, SAHM v working mother, breeders v childfree, kids in restaurants, babies on aeroplanes, and whether getting drunk or walking home alone is an invitation to get yourself raped by hapless, horny passerby.

No one would ever blog about not blogging.

Tweeting about your ‘homemade’ this and your ‘organic’ that, along with continual photographic evidence of said meals and craft projects — to broadcast to the world how healthy, clever, trendy and environmentally-conscious you are — would be illegal in 39 states and Canada. The punishment for breaking this law would be a diet of foie gras, veal and dolphin-unfriendly tuna served with PLAIN, UNORGANIC VEGETABLES. Yeah, that’s right, bitches. I’m that cruel.

I would be able to accurately convey my intentions and emotions without the use of smiley faces, LOLs or ‘just kidding!’ disclaimers.

I would always end a post with a zingy one-liner or memorable moral instead of just allowing my fingers to fall away from the keyb


NS August 27th, 2011

Gosh, this blog is gathering a rather thick layer of dust, isn’t it?

For the past few months, I have been mainly consumed with:

  • My volunteer work
  • My doula work
  • Planning our holiday in Spain (from which we recently returned)
  • Reading books
  • Wondering why I haven’t felt like blogging and if I will ever write my much-dreamed-of book
  • Contemplating the mass deletion of all my blogs but never bringing myself to do it
  • Feeling more drawn to fiction writing but being too lazy and scared to try it
  • Losing weight (15 pounds so far)
  • Getting back into running and going to the gym
  • Spending time with my family
  • Falling even more in love with my husband
  • Contemplating a third baby and then immediately ruling it out, and vice versa
  • Daydreaming of faraway places and feeling a strong desire to move
  • Looking into the possibility of becoming a midwife
  • Shitting myself at the thought of becoming a midwife
  • Mentally redecorating the children’s bedroom and my office, looking at catalogues and sketching out ideas
  • Knowing I need to weed the garden and do some DIY but not being arsed to do so
  • Moaning about the weather
  • Wondering when I will finally sort out the Spanish, guitar, photography or knitting lessons/courses I so desperately want to take

I feel both lethargic and energised with possibilities. I dream of so much but actually achieve so little. The bulk of the work I do is unpaid. More and more, I don’t mind.

Some days it feels like I am standing at a crossroads and I need to just choose a path and start down it. On others, it’s nice just to stand there and survey the different options available to me. Knowing I have the luxury of even contemplating these choices humbles, excites and even sometimes embarrasses me. So many others have not one iota of choice in their lives.

I often feel both stifled by my duties and empowered by the freedom from ‘the working world’ that they give me. Reconciling the part of me that used to feel worthless for not earning money or having a prestigious job with the ever-growing part of me that actually feels BETTER for it has been a lesson in self-actualisation and in assessing my own worth instead of depending on external sources to put a value on me and the contributions I make to my family, my community and my society.

Increasingly, I feel more and more grateful to Noble Husband for going out to work in the 9-5 rat race every day so that I don’t have to. Knowing that he understands how it depresses me, how it stifles my creative urges and humanitarian socialist tendencies, makes me love him even more.

I used to think I was the one doing him a favour, staying at home to raise our children and keep our household running efficiently. But now I see the favour he’s done for me, too. He has gifted me with possibilities; wonderful, endless possibilities.

After our children, it may be the most wonderful thing he’s ever given me and for that I am eternally grateful. I just hope I can fulfil at least some of my dreams and make him proud.

In time, the path will become clear to me, I know. I will make a choice, step off a cliff and make that leap of faith. Whether success or failure waits for me at the bottom, I don’t know. But at least I will have tried to be and do some or all of the things I’ve always wanted.

Image credit

Christmas poo and other travesties

NS December 22nd, 2010

I’m not going to write one of those long, boring posts about what I’ve been up to and why I haven’t been able to write, but a booming doula business and a trip to America to see friends, followed immediately by my sister coming to stay for two weeks and the manic lead-up to Christmas means I barely have time to wipe my ass properly let alone concoct long, navel-gazing, ranty or poignant blog posts.

Speaking of ass-wiping, this is something I’m going to be quizzing future playdates on, when Noble Girl has someone over. Just today, I was forced to deal with a toilet full of another child’s excrement and reams of loo roll laid on top, just to make it that much more difficult and unpleasant to flush. To clean up this kid’s Mr. Hanky required 3 plastic bags, 1 pair of gloves, 2 plungers, 1 bottle of spray bleach, 2 sponges and supreme control over not only my gag reflex but my Small Child Swear Word Censor Button.

You guys, I  had to clean shit off the flexible grooves of the toilet plunger afterwards. AND IT WASN’T EVEN MY KID’S SHIT. Nor was I getting paid even child sweatshop-worker wages to do so.

Tell me I’m not a saint and I’ll tell you to go stick a spork in your groin.

Attention all future and potential playdates: an ass-wiping and flushing demonstration will now take place upon arrival, with a quiz at the end. If you fail the ass-wiping and flushing quiz, you will be marched out the door and returned immediately to your parent/guardian/handler/zookeeper.

Happy Christmas everyone! Have a good one. Eat cheese, drink wine and be merry. And if you’re a teetotal vegan, well…happy New Year.

The look/feel connection

NS November 19th, 2010

I read Heather’s post on appearances and how much they matter with interest. But as I read the comments, I became more and more disturbed (and a bit sad, to be honest) by the number of women saying that how they look seems to have a direct impact on how they feel. Talk of the psychological effect that looking ‘together’ or ‘stylish’ has compared to the way looking ‘plain’ or ‘grubby’ has, it is evident that many women, even subconsciously, equate how others perceive them with what kind of mood they will be in and, subsequently, their self-esteem.

I don’t pretend that I don’t sometimes feel the same. There’s been many a day where I hadn’t showered before the school run and made sure to slap a hat and sunglasses on and days where how I looked did put me in a better mood.

But thinking about it, I wonder if it isn’t the other way around? Maybe I wasn’t in a great mood and had gotten little sleep on the day I decided to hit the snooze button twice instead of getting up to take a shower and put on a clean top. My looks were only reflecting how I felt about myself or my life at that time — tired, frazzled, grumpy and time-starved. On the days where I got out of bed early, had a shower, applied a bit of makeup and wore something besides food-encrusted pyjamas for the school run, I had probably awoken in a good mood and with enough sleep to give me the energy to do so.

If we truly believe that the link between how we look and how we feel is psychological, maybe it’s time for some reverse psychology.


NS August 26th, 2010

Summer draws to a close

Perhaps my introspective period too?

Words don’t flow from me but to me

Books upon books upon books

Words of others, my need

Words of mine, few

Too busy absorbing

like a sponge

The knowledge and the beauty

The wisdom and the love

The skill and the art

of living in the moment

Absorbing words

Absorbing life

Absorbing her before she goes

off to school

No longer my baby

But a girl in uniform

Headed into the brightness

of her future

Destined to absorb

like a sponge

All of the words

that made her mama who she is

Absorbing her smell, her cuddles, her touch

Like a sponge, I soak her up

take her into my pores

The line between mother and child

blurred once more

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